


Through the Eyes of a Stranger

by Melinda Pierson (darkmoore), sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-26
Updated: 2007-09-12
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:44:58
Rating: Teen & Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8705572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmoore/pseuds/Melinda%20Pierson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: What if the shapeshifter in "Skin" revealed something else to Sam than what he did? How would Sam deal with this new information and how would it affect the brother's relationship? What happens when Sam looks at Dean through the eyes of a stranger? Pre-slash





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

  
Author's notes: Author's Note Melinda Pierson: When we started this - a new fandom, our first time as co-authors - I was a little scared. I wasn’t sure if this could work, if we could really pull it off. But... it went better than I could ever have imagined and I am very grateful to my sis, for hooking me up with yet another fandom. If it wasn't for her, I'd never have started to watch Supernatural. Thank you, sis, I had a great time!

Author's Note Cassandra Pierson: This story was amazingly fun to write. Mainly because of the co-authorship with Melinda. We were sailing as smooth as you could wish for and I'm really glad to have embarked on this journey together. We didn't even scratch out each others eyes and I'm very proud of what we accomplished. *raises a glass of chocolate milk* To a very successful collaboration. *huggles her sister*

Joint Author's Note: This is an AU. We split from canon very late in 1.6 "Skin". SPOILERS for everything up to and including this episode are to be expected. This fanfic is the starting point for our own Alternate Universe within Supernatural and hopefully there will be a few joint stories following in this vein.  


* * *

oooooOooooo

Through the Eyes of a Stranger

written by Melinda and Cassandra Pierson

oooooOooooo

St. Louis, Missouri

 

Sam had woken to the ropes tightening on his wrists and with his head throbbing dully. It took him a while to realise just what had happened. How could he have missed the difference between Rebecca and the shapeshifter? There must have been _something_ to indicate the danger he was in, and he hadn't noticed at all. No nagging feeling at the back of his head, no oddities in her behaviour. Nothing to alert him to the danger he had been in. Showed him how removed he really was from people he thought of as good friends. 

 

While Sam took inventory of his status – a bump on the back of his head and tied up tightly – the shapeshifter was prowling around for what felt like an eternity. Waiting patiently for an opportunity to free himself wasn't easy, especially because Sam knew what this creature did to its victims. Angry at himself for being so stupid, and even more furious at that creature for stealing Dean's face, Sam allowed himself a brief moment of running with his emotions before forcing calmness to overlay them. Getting upset wouldn’t solve anything at this point. He kept his eyes on the shapeshifter as it kept moving around the room, even though every movement renewed the painful headache. 

 

It had only been a moment, but Sam couldn't stand the quiet. Maybe he could win a bit more time to plan his escape and give Dean longer to figure out what was going on. “What are you gonna do to me?” Sam asked. 

 

“Oh, I’m not gonna do anything. Dean will, though,” came the smug answer. 

 

Sam's blood ran cold. It was going to do exactly what it had done previously and he had seen the results of that. Suppressing a shudder, Sam concentrated on their conversation, playing for time and hoping for an opportunity to escape. “They’ll never catch him,” Sam said, watching avidly as the shapeshifter opened a drawer to look inside. 

 

“Doesn’t matter,” it replied immediately and turned halfway back to look at Sam. Its eyes caught a stray ray of light and the oh-so-familiar eyes flashed in an unnatural yellow. “Murder in the first of his own brother. He’ll be hunted for the rest of his life.” The shapeshifter turned around and carefully selected a sharp knife from the counter. With an expert glance at the blade, the creature smiled contently. 

 

Stilling, the shapeshifter turned back to Sam with a wicked grin on its borrowed face. It approached with a saunter Sam had seen so often with Dean, then knelt next to Sam. For a moment the sharp blade of the knife was too close to Sam's throat for his liking. But all the shapeshifter did was to trace the knife tip across Sam's face and down his neck without actually breaking the skin. Almost like a caress. It didn't say a word – just grinned at him broadly – before it got back up and grabbed his bound feet. Sam struggled as the shapeshifter dragged him towards the living room, the knife in it's free hand. 

 

It just left him in the middle of the floor, and Sam's head spun slightly from the abrupt movement and the head injury. His head felt like bees had started a hive in there, and the dull ache in the back flared into agony. 

 

After what seemed like an eternity to Sam, the shapeshifter suddenly started speaking again. “I must say, I will be sorry to lose this skin. Your brother’s got a lot of good qualities. You should appreciate him more than you do.” There was an odd undertone when it said that; something utterly creepy. 

 

It was hard to concentrate on what it said. Sam's head felt like it was about to burst by now; his every heartbeat throbbed in the back of his head. He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering all of his energy reserves, telling himself over and over again that it was vital to know what his enemy was doing. Sam forced himself to calm down and breathe deeply for a few times. He tried to relax, to let go, and as he did, he managed to bring the headache down to a bearable level. Sam opened his eyes again. He didn't dare to let the shapeshifter out of his sight for too long. At least his head didn't hurt as badly right now and he wasn't in danger of losing consciousness - which would have been his death sentence. Focussing on the shapeshifter, Sam followed it with his eyes, watched as it poured itself a drink. Thinking of something that looked like Dean as an 'it' was weird, but Sam couldn't help himself. There was no way he could call it by the name of his brother, not even in his own head. Not if he wanted to be able to kill it. 

 

“Cheers.” The shapeshifter sipped his drink, looking thoughtfully at Sam in a way that made his skin crawl. 

 

Sam had the feeling that there was something more going on, as if there was more to the words of the shapeshifter than met the eye. What did this thing mean? The thought merely flitted through his mind, gone as soon as the shapeshifter reached for the knife – a small smile on the borrowed face – and forcefully stabbed it into the surface of the pool table. 

 

“You really should appreciate him more, Sammy. He sure does appreciate you a lot.” There it was again; the undertone in that thing’s voice. Before Sam could make something of its comment, the shapeshifter crouched down beside him and swiftly grabbed Sam’s crotch, squeezing it. For a moment, Sam just stared at the thing with his brother’s face unbelievingly. This couldn’t actually be happening. 

 

“Do you know what it feels like for him to have you so close all the time? How you turn him on? How much he wants you?” The words, spoken in his brother’s voice, husky with arousal and desire, made Sam’s stomach turn. Suddenly the thing got up, took another sip from its drink, and turned towards the knife again. 

 

Sam knew it was now or never. If he didn’t find a way to get rid of these ropes soon, he’d be dead. Moving quickly, Sam kicked the shapeshifter's legs out from underneath it, sending it to the ground. He got up as fast as he could and went directly for the knife that was still sticking out of the pool table, cutting the ropes on the sharp blade. _Now or never._ Sam pulled the weapon free from the wood and removed the restraints on his ankles in one brisk movement. As he attacked the creature, it was as if time slowed down, everything was crystal clear. 

 

The surprised expression on its face, the grunts it made as Sam hit it. All of it was so very much like some of the training sessions they had gone through. Sam had to keep thinking “this is _not_ Dean” in order to keep focussed on what was going on. The shapeshifter recovered and faced Sam in a defensive stance. Knowing that he couldn't win a fight by just defending himself, Sam attacked it with the knife. All the while he had to wonder how many of Dean's fighting skills it had absorbed when it took his form. 

 

When the shapeshifter grabbed his arm in mid-swing, pushing against Sam forcefully, Sam knew he was in trouble. Utilizing every bit of strength he had, Sam tried to bring the knife closer, just to have his own momentum turned against him, landing on his back painfully. He quickly jumped up. He turned back to his foe, ready to defend himself as he looked at the shapeshifter advancing towards him. 

 

“Oh, you son of a bitch,” the shapeshifter hissed, obviously annoyed. 

 

It sounded so much like Dean at that moment that Sam nearly wanted to yield to his big brother, catching his slip not a second too late. The shapeshifter swung at him and hit Sam once before he managed to grab the creature's arm, pushing it up behind its back brutally to gain advantage. 

 

“Not bad, little brother.” 

 

This time Sam didn't allow himself any brotherly feelings. “You’re not him,” he growled breathlessly. Fighting for control, the creature threw him off, but Sam came back swinging, hitting it twice in a row, which only served to make it more angry. A knee to the stomach and a shove against the shelves brought Sam down, books and displayed items coming down on top of him in a painful rain, jarring his head once more. He got up by holding onto the pool table and staggered slightly as he tried to keep his balance. 

 

The shapeshifter took hold of a pool cue like a bat. “Even when we were kids, I always kicked your ass,” it goaded. 

 

Sam rolled out of the way as the shapeshifter swung its new found weapon at him. It only managed to hit the light, darkening the room. Desperate to get some distance between them, Sam kicked it in the stomach and forced the creature back. Immediately Sam aimed a straight right at the shapeshifter, but was caught easily. The creature ducked underneath Sam's fist and hit Sam in the stomach. 

 

Sam was a bit unsteady by now and exhaustion settled in. The shapeshifter wasn’t in a better shape from the looks of it, but the fist that connected with Sam's jaw hadn't lost any power. When the shapeshifter threw itself at Sam, it propelled them both onto the coffee table, which broke beneath their combined weight. Two more hits to the head and Sam nearly lost consciousness, his head exploding in agony. Blinded by pain and exhausted to a point where giving in started to seem like a good idea, Sam couldn't fight back when the shapeshifter put its hands around Sam's neck and started squeezing. His survival instinct and training kicked in, though, and Sam went for the shapeshifter’s eyes in a last attempt to save his life. His weak attacks were ineffective, and as his need to breathe grew stronger, his attempts to free himself grew weaker. Hands that looked exactly like his brother's were locked around his throat. Dean's face hovered above him, smiling in pleasure as those familiar hands squeezed the air out of Sam. 

 

“Hey!” 

 

Sam’s vision had already begun to fade when he heard the voice that just barely managed to cut through the whooshing noise in his ears. The hands left Sam’s throat, and a second later two shots rang out. Dean - the real Dean - was there and the shapeshifter was dead.

oooooOooooo

Placing the map on the hood of the Impala, Dean pretended he didn't actually feel hurt. He had to keep up his façade; like he always did. There was no use in revealing his worries to Sam, the kid had been through enough these past few days. Dean tried to imagine how it must have been to have the hands of his brother look-alike wrapped around his throat, ready to kill him. Must have been one hell of an experience. It didn't matter that it hadn't actually been him. It didn't matter that Sam _knew_ it wasn't him. What _did_ matter was that the damage was done anyway. Sometimes Dean wondered how much Sam could take before he would break for good, before Dean wouldn't be able to put him back together after one of their hunts. Dean was afraid that a part of his brother could be irrevocably lost. He was terrified that maybe that process had already started without him noticing.

 

There was something different about Sam since last night. Dean could feel it, could sense it in the way Sam moved and behaved – yes, even held himself. At first he had thought it was only the shock of seeing the shapeshifter dead with Dean's face still on. Hell, it had given _Dean_ the creeps to see that thing so lifeless when he had taken the necklace back. Dean had thought it might be worse since Sam hadn't been able to touch him right after it had happened. 

 

Of course Dean knew about his little brother's habit of touching him some way or the other after something had happened. Sam had been doing it forever now, since their very first scrape with death. It was Sam's way of reassuring himself that they both were still alive. But this time Rebecca had been there and surprisingly Sam hadn't even attempted get a 'touchy-feely' moment in later on. Which was weird in itself. Sam was a creature of habit - both of them were - and it wasn't like him to change his behavior. After a short, sleepless night, Dean wasn't sure any more that everything was alright. At least Sam was Sam. Dean had made sure to check that. Had pissed Sam off a bit, but Dean wasn't going to take any risks with that one. 

 

So now here they were. Sam was saying goodbye to Rebecca somewhat awkwardly, and Dean was left to his own thoughts. He had a feeling that Sam would attempt to talk this over again. Okay, so maybe his little brother deserved a bit of a conversation. One chick flick moment was allowed if you had been almost killed by someone who looked like your own brother, right? And if it took that to find out what was wrong with Sammy, then that was exactly what Dean would do. Everything for his Sammy. 

 

Dean sighed inwardly. This was becoming a problem. His obsession with his brother was neither good nor healthy. It was completely and utterly _wrong_. Because whatever fucked up, illegal or immoral things Dean had done in his life, overstepping _this_ boundary was completely out of the question. He had been attracted to - _try 'in love with',_ his inner voice supplied helpfully - Sam for years now. He had more practice in hiding this desire behind one of his protective layers than he cared for. Hopefully Sam would never _ever_ find out that Dean had feelings for him that were everything but brotherly. It would destroy what they had worked so hard on gaining after Jessica's death. Dean was aware of the fact that Sam only planned on staying until they had found their dad, but still it was better than nothing. If Sam ever found out that his _brother_ was attracted to him, he would leave for good, having found Dad or not. Sure, he could always try to deny it, but the damage would have been done. No, this was something that better stayed hidden - forever. They both were disturbed enough as it was from the shapeshifter mess. 

 

Rebecca and Sam were standing much too close to each other for Dean's liking. Of course Dean knew that she was part of a life Sammy still longed for. But she couldn't have him. He wanted to get Sammy away from her, as far as possible. Back on the road, back to the hunt, back to being alone with him. He didn't want for her to remind Sam of what he couldn't have, didn't have any more. Didn't want to have to share his Sammy with her, or any of the college friends Sam still had. Dean knew he could never be a part of this life his brother had led, didn't _belong_ into the life Sam had enjoyed these past two years. He was sure Sammy didn't have a clue how much it had hurt Dean when Sam had left to live his own, "normal" life. It very nearly had killed Dean. Sam was and would always be his everything. Not that he planned on ever sharing that information with his brother, though. One Winchester with the urge to have one chick flick moment after the other was more than enough. 

 

Parts of Sam's conversation with Rebecca drifted over to Dean, and he cringed when she said 'Must be lonely'. _You have no idea,_ Dean thought. Lonely didn't really cut it. Not even close. How could he describe what it was they shared? All the years of training, all the years of hunting, all the years they had spent only being able to trust and rely on each other. From the moment their dad had placed a six-month-old Sammy into his arms, it had been Dean's job to protect his little brother. From that moment on, Sam had been his world. And now, when Sam answered 'Oh, no. No, it's not so bad. Anyway, what can I do? It's my family.' Dean released a breath be hadn't been aware of holding. They hugged one last time, and Rebecca finally waved goodbye. Relieved, Dean waved back. Then she was gone, and Sammy was coming over to him. Soon they would hit the road, and everything would be alright again. At least Dean hoped so.

oooooOooooo

Sam felt like crap. He was staring out of the window, ignoring his brother completely. Thoughts were swirling around in his head, images of things he’d rather forget. After their conversation about Dean's _funeral,_ Sam didn’t feel like talking any more. He just wanted to put this town, this hunt, and all that had happened far behind him. His brother - for the first time in quite a few days - just let him be. The countryside of Missouri was speeding by fast to the sounds of Metallica, with Dean's fingers playing a staccato on the wheel in time to the beat. Sam just couldn’t understand how his brother could be so relaxed when all Sam wanted to do was scream in frustration. Did nothing ever get to Dean?

 

Sam tried to ban the image of Dean throttling him from his mind. It hadn't been him, the rational part of Sam knew that all too well. Because even though they teased mercilessly and sometimes even hit each other, Sam knew that Dean would rather die than actually threaten him for real. The irrational, emotional part of Sam though wasn’t as unimpressed. For God’s sake, this thing had tied him down, mocked him, sexually harassed him, and then tried to kill him. It didn’t matter that Sam had known that this wasn’t really Dean. It sure as hell had _hurt_ for real. 

 

But what unsettled him most, the picture that had burned itself into his mind so very clearly, was something entirely else. Something that had nothing to do with the fact that his own life had been in danger. It was the picture of Dean, of this abomination wearing his brothers face, bloodied, empty eyed, _dead_.Crumpled in a heap, lifeless. For a moment, just for the few seconds it took for his oxygen deprived brain to catch up with reality, he had looked at the dead thing and had seen Dean. Which was far more disturbing than _anything_ he had seen in his life. And _that_ really did say something. 

 

Sam closed his eyes for a second, his forehead pressed against the cool glass. He needed to get his feelings back under control, needed to get a grip on reality. Dean hadn’t been hurt, wasn’t in any more danger than he was at any given time. In fact he was his annoying, obnoxious self. Still Sam never wanted to see Dean like that again; cold, pale, with blood all over him. That short moment when he had actually thought he had lost Dean, when he had _felt_ the loss of his brother like a knife twisting in his chest, that had been painful enough to last him a lifetime. He never _ever_ wanted to feel like that again. The relief that rushed through him when he realized Dean was alive was like nothing he had experienced before. Then Rebecca had been there and he couldn't go to Dean, couldn’t touch him like he usually did after a brush with death. It was his way of reinforcing the fact that they were both alive. Sam suspected that Dean knew why he was doing it and humoured him, but he’d never mention it. Not in a million years. Touchy feely just wasn’t Dean’s style. 

 

_“Do you know what it feels like for him to have you so close all the time? How you turn him on? How much he wants you?”_ The memory came unbidden, hitting him like a slap in the face. Words, spoken in a way he was too damn familiar with - husky, aroused, intense. Never before addressed to him in this way, but familiar nevertheless. This low, seductive voice, the promise of pleasure, the _want_ Dean’s – no the shapeshifter’s – voice had held. Sam had heard this voice on Dean on a number of occasions. What he’d _never_ seen close up before, though, was the lust in his eyes. Raw and unadulterated. Scary. Thrilling. Unthinkable. Another detail he didn’t want to remember. It was just plain _wrong_. It couldn’t be true. That was completely impossible. But the _thing_ had said Dean wanted him. Had looked like it wanted to jump him right then and there before its thoughts turned back to killing him. 

 

Sam didn't fool himself. There was no way around this. They would have to talk about it. He couldn't allow doubts caused by the words of one of the monsters they hunted to ever come between them. Evil lied, he reminded himself firmly. They lied when it served their purpose, and they told the truth for the same reason. Only that there was _no reason_ to lie to him at this point. He'd been tied up and helpless. The shapeshifter was about to off him. Sam had been close enough to see the perverse pleasure at having him at his mercy in those eerie eyes. Eyes that should have been familiar – yet weren’t. The emotion, the _intent_ in them couldn’t have been more wrong. It was the one thing that indicated that this was actually _not_ Dean. But it wasn’t enough. He still had to fight to stop himself from seeing his brother's face hovering over him, hands around his throat, about to _kill_ him. The thing would have succeeded, too, if the real Dean hadn’t shown up, saving the day. Like so often. His knight in shining armor. 

 

Sam avoided looking at his brother, who by now kept throwing quick, worried glances his way. Instead he continued to think over every word the shapeshifter said. Over and over again. Everything it had said to him back in the sewers and in Rebecca's house. How much of that was manipulation and how much of it was the truth about how Dean actually felt? There was just no denying it. Chances were that thing had _not_ lied at all. Sam suppressed a sigh. 

 

He watched the sign "Welcome to Kentucky" breeze by and felt the car slow down just that little bit, knowing without looking, that Dean was going to find the first best place for them to stay the night. The years they had been separated hadn't dulled Sam's Dean-sense one bit. He still knew when his brother was angry, hurt, or in pain. Knew when he was looking for a hunt and when he wanted to hole up and lick his wounds. Sam didn't kid himself: Dean was as hurt by what had happened as he himself was. To see that creature, wearing _his_ face, trying to kill _his_ kid brother - that had more than likely opened a whole can of worms. Even without the added complication of Dean knowing that the shapeshifter had sexually harassed him, the situation was difficult already. How sure was Dean that Sam wasn’t scared of him on some level? How would Dean deal with the fact that the creature had access to most of his memories, his thoughts? How much damage had it done to the sometimes already fragile peace between them? Sam didn't even want to think about those things yet. Didn’t want to guess what Dean’s imagination could come up with. He also didn’t want to confront his brother about it, but he had to. Dean would never talk about it on his own. Not until it was too late. 

 

Sam knew there was no way they could have this conversation in the Impala, not while they were still on the road. If this should work out, if he should have a realistic chance to actually talk to Dean, then they needed to have this conversation someplace else. Somewhere Dean wouldn’t feel trapped, locked in, somewhere he could put space between them. Like a Motel room. Sam knew if he even tried to have this talk in the car, Dean would either ignore him or deck him for trying. Neither option was acceptable. So the conversation would have to wait until Dean had found a place for them to stay. Luckily for Sam, he didn’t have to wait too long. Barely ten minutes later, Dean pulled into the parking lot in front of a cheap motel.

oooooOooooo

Sam closed the door behind him and leaned against it. He watched as Dean shot him a quizzical look and dropped his bag onto one of the beds. _No time like the present_ Sam thought, mentally preparing for a rather unpleasant, if necessary talk. He pushed himself away from the door and went over to sit on the other bed, his eyes never leaving Dean.

 

“Dean, I think we need to talk about some stuff,” he began, seeing his brother flinch. It was the typical _’we need to talk’_ opening that usually never led to something good, but Sam couldn’t think of a better phrase. He suppressed a sigh. This was going to get ugly. His brother’s defences were up already and Sam hadn’t _really_ said anything that could cause trouble, yet. Dean was retreating from him physically, moving to the furthest corner of the small motel room, putting as much distance between them as he could get away with. It was the visible proof of the fact that something was bothering Dean. Sam knew his brother wasn’t usually one to talk about his emotions much – make that almost never – but he wasn’t one to avoid a necessary confrontation. So when Sam watched him hang his leather jacket on the back of a chair with meticulous care, doing pretty much anything he could so he didn’t have to look at him, Sam knew this was going to be a lot harder than he’d thought. 

 

“No, we don’t,” Dean finally disagreed, sounding determined. “Something that looked like me attacked you. It wasn’t me. I killed it and we move on. End of story. Nothing to talk about.” Dean was still keeping his distance to Sam. Then, when Sam didn’t say anything in return right away, Dean stopped contemplating the dirty floor and looked at Sam. A hurt look flickered in his eyes, before one of his indifferent masks shifted into place. “You _do_ know I’d never really hurt you, right? You’re not afraid of me, are you? You can’t possibly believe I’d actually try to kill you.” There was disbelief and a tone of confused hurt laced his voice. 

 

This time, Sam really did sigh. He buried his face in his hands and collected his thoughts. Dean didn't know about the thing touching him, didn't know it had claimed that _Dean_ was sexually attracted to his own brother. Taking a deep breath, Sam finally looked up at Dean again, who had reduced the distance between them and was now standing a bit away from him, watching him warily. "Of course I’m not afraid of you. I trust you. I know that wasn’t you who attacked me," Sam said, willing his brother to believe it. Dean relaxed visibly at his words. "There is something else, though, I need to tell you. Something this thing said, something it did..." 

 

“Something it did?” Dean asked, alarm in his voice and the tension returned to his body. “You mean it did something else to you than... trying to choke you to death?” 

 

Sam nodded. “Yes, it did.” 

 

“Are you all right? I mean, tell me what it did. Are you hurt? Dude, why didn't you tell me before? Good God, _Sammy_ , you let me drive you around for hours and didn’t say a word?” Dean sounded like he was somewhere between concerned and angry, but leaning toward the latter. 

 

“Calm down, Dean. I'm not hurt. Not beyond what you know about, anyway. No... it...” _Damn, this is just so fucking hard,_ Sam thought, trying to gather up the courage to actually say it. “It touched me, groped me. It said you were... turned on by me. That my physical closeness to you was... unsettling you.” There was no accusation in his voice, just a mild curiosity and a lot of insecurity. “So, Dean, all I want to know is... Is it true? Is it true what the... what it said? Do you really have these... feelings for me?” 

 

Dean looked at him, eyes wide, backing off ever so slightly. “Sammy, how can you believe that... that _thing_? You know as well as I do that they _all_ lie! You're my baby brother for god's sake. I'd _never_ do anything that could hurt you.” 

 

Something in Dean’s voice made Sam listen very closely. A great deal of time, Dean would either say things he didn’t really mean, or he would leave out half the information. Sam was used to that by now. So, since Sam got the vague feeling that there was something Dean wasn’t telling him, he obviously needed to look a bit closer. He realized that, while Dean had said he’d never do anything to hurt him, he had not really said that he _wasn’t_ attracted to him, either. Sam decided that this needed further investigation. Something about his brother’s behavior was definitely _off_. Opting for an open confrontation, Sam asked, “It didn't lie about the other things though, Dean, did it? It didn't lie about you and your feelings about my going to college. Do you really feel like you couldn't have a life? That you had to stay with dad? That I _ditched_ you?” Dean flinched at every question as if Sam had hit him. Maybe they were actually getting somewhere, here. _Lying, eh?_

 

“Sam, I...,” Dean started, his face immediately taking on another one of those masks Sam hated so much. Absolutely blank, not showing his pain, not showing _any_ kind of emotion at all. 

 

_Oh no, you’re not going to do that. We’re going to have this out. This needs to be cleared up **now** ,_ Sam thought fiercely. “God, Dean, why didn't you tell me? Why did we never talk about any of that?” A small part of him felt bad for knowing which buttons to push, but the larger part was determined to get past what the shapeshifter had said - damn the cost. 

 

“Yeah, I _really_ wonder why.” Dean hissed sarcastically. He was in full defence mode now, Sam could tell. The way his body language changed, the way his voice turned just that bit colder and harder. “That would have made a great conversation, don’t you think, _Sammy_? ‘Oh, little brother, by the way I hate it that you got to go to college while I am stuck with our dad, hunting. But hey, don’t you worry about me. I am sure you know how lucky you are.’” Dean’s voice was dangerously low now, speaking of real hurt underneath all the sarcasm. “You are not the one who had to try and please Dad, after all. Everything _you_ ever had to do was be yourself. Perfect little college-boy. No matter how much the two of you fought, he always adored you.” 

 

Sam stared at Dean with wide eyes. He had known his brother was lonely, maybe even hurt, but he would have never expected the amount of pain that shone from Dean’s eyes right now. Sam doubted Dean realized just how many of his real emotions were on display at the moment. _How could I be so blind?_ Sam thought. He got up, intending to go over to Dean and comfort him as best as he could. “Dean, listen, I’m sorry. I really-” 

 

“Shut up!” Dean interrupted whatever Sam had wanted to say, stopping him dead in his tracks. “I don’t want to hear it. You wanted to stop hunting? You wanted your own life? Fine. You see what it got you. This is what we do, Sam – what we are. We are hunters. We don’t get to have the white picket fence dream. You can’t run away from destiny. You can’t have ‘normal’. When are you ever gonna get it?” He rubbed his hand over his face tiredly, but continued to speak before Sam could say anything. His voice was more even, but strangely toneless as he said, “Listen, Sammy. I’m sorry your dream of a perfectly normal life didn’t work out. I really am. But there is nothing I can do about it. And now I don’t wanna talk about it any more. This little shit was spilling lies, nothing more. You don’t have to be afraid of me hitting on you.” He turned around, facing away from Sam, his shoulders stiff. 

 

Sam’s heart broke at seeing his brother like that. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. This wasn’t how he was supposed to act. Dean didn’t look defeated, he just… didn’t. It just _wasn’t done_. He was the cocky one, the one who enjoyed being on the road, hunting, impersonating federal agents. The broken, hurting man who was in the room with him right now was a complete stranger to Sam. Dean - the Dean he knew - would have thrown a tantrum, punched him for even suggesting he’d be interested in Sam this way. He’d have done something – anything but this silent defeat. Something was still bothering Dean and Sam intended to find out what that was. 

 

Reaching a decision, Sam moved over to where his brother was standing by the window. Was it a good sign that Dean hadn’t left the room completely? Sam hoped so. He touched Dean’s shoulder tentatively, ignoring the flinch it caused. Sam took a deep breath and said, “I’ll say it again, Dean; I’m not afraid of you. I know you’d never willingly hurt me. But we need to talk about this if you don’t want it to stand between us in the future. I know I’ve said I have my secrets, too, but this is _big._ It’s too big to just be ignored. Please, Dean why can't you just talk to me. I mean we're-” He tried to turn his brother around to look him in the eyes. 

 

“No!” Dean yelled, spinning around and shoving Sam against the wall. His eyes were ablaze with anger. “Back off! I told you I don't wanna talk about it. What the fuck do you expect from me anyway? You left me once already. You're gonna leave me again. I don't fucking need you. You're not even my real brother. Leave me the fuck alone.” 

 

Sam felt as if someone had pulled the ground from under his feet. He couldn’t comprehend what Dean just had said. Dean hadn’t really…“What do you mean 'not my real brother'?” Sam forced out, voice shaking audibly. He knew he had to be pale as a ghost. 

 

“What do you _think_ I mean, Sammy?” Dean hissed sarcastically. “You and me aren't biological brothers. I was adopted. Mom and Dad didn't think they could have a child of their own. But then you came and of course you were Dad's precious golden boy who could do no wrong. Me, I had to fight for his affection every step of the way.” There was so much suppressed pain in Dean’s voice that it made Sam’s heart ache, even though he had just had the shock of his life. “You didn't see him like I did, looking at you, his own perfect little miracle. The child they thought they'd never have. You didn't see the pride and joy his eyes held when you smiled up at him. A look he never had for me. I would have given my _life_ for the old man. And he leaves me behind like old baggage.” Choking, Dean stopped talking and averted his eyes. Hiding from Sam yet again. “Look, Sammy, I didn't... I never wanted to hurt you. You made your decisions, I made mine. It ain't fair of me to blame you, to be jealous of you, but dammit, sometimes I am.” 

 

They were still standing nose to nose and Sam could feel his brother shaking, could see the tears gathering in his eyes. _I shouldn't have pushed it. God, I shouldn't have made him tell me._ Sam thought hazily. Hugging Dean close he pretended to not feel the wetness of Dean's tears on his shoulder, pretended to not feel his frame trembling against him. He knew Dean would never allow himself to be comforted if Sam acknowledged what Dean viewed as a weakness. “It's okay,” Sam murmured, holding on tightly. He could feel Dean relax slightly, enough to hug him back and cling to him like a lifeline. 

 

“Lonely, Sam. I was so lonely. First you left, then dad. Everybody leaves me.” He sounded so hurt and defeated that it broke Sam’s heart. 

 

Sam took a shaking breath, wrapping his arms more securely around his brother’s still trembling form before coming to a decision. Dean needed him, needed to know he could count on him. So Sam said, “I promise, I will not leave you again. Not now, not in the future. You’re stuck with me if you want it or not. I mean it, Dean. I won’t leave you alone again.” 

 

How long they stood there, arm in arm, just holding onto each other – neither of them could have said. Eventually, though, Dean’s tears subsided and his body stopped shaking. He disentangled himself from his brother’s embrace carefully, avoiding eye contact. “’m sorry,” he murmured, wiping his sleeve over his face in an impatient gesture. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I…” He turned around, moving to the bathroom in long strides. “I’m sorry,” he said again before slipping into the bathroom and locking the door behind himself with an audible click. 

 

_”That went well,”_ Sam murmured sarcastically, throwing a glance at the closed bathroom door. What a complete and utter mess. Somehow he had the feeling he’d made things worse instead of clearing them up. This week really sucked.

oooooOooooo

Dean listened to the slow and regular breathing that was coming form the other bed. Sam had finally fallen asleep and Dean could relax a little. The last few hours had been a catastrophe and nothing like he had expected them to go. Sure, he had known that Sammy most probably would like to talk about what had happened, but when he hadn't done so in the car, Dean had actually hoped he would let the topic rest. No such luck, though. But what was worse were the things the shapeshifter had obviously told his little brother. Things Sam was never supposed to get to know - ever. There was a huge difference between _suspecting_ your brother had issues with some things and actually being _told_ so by a creature that had access to all the necessary memories. It was humiliating and painful.

 

Rage welled up in Dean at the thought that this _thing_ had touched Sammy - _his_ Sammy - in an improper way. Now Sam knew how he felt about him, knew at least about the sexual attraction. That thought bothered Dean a whole lot more than he ever cared to admit. That Sammy had guessed that he hadn't been too thrilled about his leaving to college, that he had been jealous of him at times, that was something Dean could deal with. The confirmation of those facts were not as hard to do as trying to convince Sam that he would never touch him in a way brothers shouldn't. Dean just hoped Sam had believed him in this point. He'd just have to be very careful about how he looked at his baby brother in the future. And touching - well touching would be awkward for some time anyway, Dean guessed. Nothing he could do about that now. Some part of Dean had known, had at least suspected that Sam would be unsettled about the shapeshifter trying to kill him; that this thing had practically sexually harassed his little brother as well made Dean wish he could kill it again, slowly and painfully. 

 

This was all so fucked up. Dean barely suppressed a groan when he though about all the things he had told Sammy later on. Somehow his brother always managed to sneak under his protective layers. Damn him for knowing exactly which buttons to push. With just a few well chosen words Sammy had stripped away all of his masks, had left his emotions bare for Sam to look at. It made him feel vulnerable and insecure, two emotions Dean despised with all he was. So he had reacted, lashed out with words, neither knowing nor caring what damage he'd do. _Oh God, I actually told him that we're not really brothers,_ Dean thought and felt nausea well up inside of him. Dad had made it perfectly clear that Sam was never, under no circumstances to know this little family secret. And he had blurted it out in the most inappropriate moment ever. _Why now?_ Dean asked himself. _Why did I tell him now of all times, when I kept this secret for over twenty years?_ He really didn't want to go there. Didn't want to explore the _why_ behind his stupid gut reaction. It was bad enough he had told Sammy he had felt alone and left behind. How much worse could it get? He wasn't any better than the sissy he playfully accused Sam of being so often. 

 

Oh, but it had gotten worse. He had cried. Had actually cried in his brother's arms afterwards, clinging to him like a damsel in distress. _Well done, Dean,_ his inner voice remarked bitterly, feeling humiliated and ashamed because of the weakness he had shown. Fortunately Sammy had been gracious enough not to mention it to him, had been kind enough not to admit he knew what Dean was doing. Breaking down in your baby brother's arms wasn't anything you could be proud of and it wasn't how Dad had raised him. It was supposed to be the other way around. _Dean_ was meant to be there for Sam. But the damage was done and the only thing left to do was to cut their losses. Dean would act normal, wouldn't give Sam a chance to go all emotional on him again. He wouldn’t allow Sam to get past those protections again. Instead he’d make sure Sam would be one hundred percent convinced that Dean didn't see anything else in him than his kid-brother, blood related or not. And he would never mention anything about adoption again. As far as he was concerned, Sammy was his brother, the one person he had sworn to protect at all costs. 

 

Now he just needed the strength to go through with it.

oooooOooooo


	2. Part 2

  
Author's notes: Continued from Part 1.  


* * *

oooooOooooo

Sam woke to the feeling of a newspaper hitting his chest. He hadn't had a nightmare, but he hadn't slept restfully, either. The tension between him and Dean was still palpable, after all that had been said and done the last evening. Dean had remained locked inside the bathroom until Sam had yelled for him to come out so he could take a shower too and go to bed. When Dean finally had left the bathroom, he had passed Sam without a word, eyes cast down. His whole body language had screamed of defence. In the end, when Sam had emerged from the bathroom, Dean had been in bed, blanket pulled up to his neck, pretending to sleep. Sam hadn't disturbed him. Hadn't _dared_ to disturb him. Not after what he had caused earlier. He couldn't help but feel responsible for most of the pain he had seen in Dean's eyes.

 

Now, in the light of day, Dean was ostensibly back to normal. Same old. Business as usual. He had thrown the morning paper at Sam and now that Sam sat upright in bed, he shoved a cup of hot coffee in his hands. "Read that. Three dead people found over the last four weeks. Another two missing. All of them either drained of blood or mutilated. All in the same area. Sounds like a bunch of Vampires to me. We should check this out to see if it's really something for us," Dean said, sipping his own coffee. 

 

So hunting it was, now. Dean obviously needed to let off steam and nothing would calm his brother faster than hunting some creature or other. _Not even my real brother._ The words Dean had said the previous night came back to Sam with haunting clarity. Dean wasn't his blood relative. He was adopted. Too focussed on how upset Dean had been he hadn't even thought about that at all. With Dean looming over him like a reaper, Sam suppressed all thoughts of last night and instead took a long drink from the paper cup. 

 

“You getting up, or what?” Dean asked impatiently, staring at his brother hard, as if expecting Sam to press him some more about matters he hadn’t wanted to talk about in the first place.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Gimme a break here. I’m coming. Damn it, Dean, stop bugging me.” Sam threw off the covers and made his way to the bathroom while Dean sat down on the small table, booting the laptop up. 

 

When Sam came back from the bathroom, shaved, dressed and ready to go, Dean wordlessly turned the laptop over so Sam could look at the screen as well. “We need to go to Lexington. That’s not too far from here. See if we can find out something about what's going on out there.” Dean closed the laptop and grabbed his bag. “Come on. Let's get going. If it’s really vampires, we need dead man’s blood before we start hunting. Might as well get a head start.”

oooooOooooo

They were in the car again, and just like the previous day, Sam was left to his own thoughts. When it came down to it, the most important fact was that Dean was not his biological brother. And obviously he had known for some time, too. Which would maybe explain how he could even consider thinking about him, Sam, in those terms. If there was no blood relation, then - _theoretically speaking_ \- there was no ethical conflict in falling in love with your brother. If that was what was going on with Dean. Or maybe not. Dean had always had issues with emotions, playing down any real feelings with snide remarks and jokes. He was all ‘manly’ and cool about it, but Sam usually knew what Dean was thinking, anyway. He had had years of practice of studying and deciphering every single one of Dean’s protective masks. Not that Dean knew about that, thank you very much. He’d most probably freak if he knew how well his little brother was able to read him.

 

And yet, this blow Sam hadn’t seen coming. Maybe Dean had hidden this particular feeling too well, or maybe Dean was really just sort of _physically_ attracted to him. Sam wondered when exactly he had accepted that his own brother had the hots for him. Not that the thought of Dean liking boys – men – in that way was disturbing or something. That Dean might play for both teams didn’t matter to Sam at all. He could actually see the appeal if he was honest with himself. Sam had only taken part in the usual wanking circles at school and hadn’t done anything at all with other boys, had never felt the urge to take the last step. While Jessica had been very pretty and absolutely his type, Sam also could appreciate a nice, male body. He just really, _really_ preferred girls over boys. And judging by the amount of - decidedly female - flings his brother had had in the past, so did Dean. And if Dean really was attracted to him? So what? No big deal, really. The Winchester men weren’t ‘normal’ by any standards anyway. Why should sex be the exception? 

 

It was just so typically Dean. That man would trust you with his car, his weapons, his _life_ \- but not with his heart . 

 

Sam threw a quick glance over at Dean, who seemed to be more tense and jumpy than usual. Of course he would be after the little display the previous evening. He’d shown more emotion, had revealed more of his soul than Sam could remember Dean ever showing to anyone. Dad’s perfect little soldier - well trained, obedient and completely in control of his emotions. _God, this is so weird. This is **Dean** I’m thinking about here,_ Sam mused, risking a second glance, but looking away again before Dean could call him out on staring. 

 

Sam turned his face to the window again, looking out with unseeing eyes. When he finally focused on the here and now again, he focussed on his own reflection in the widow, rather than the greenery that was rushing past him outside. Staring at his fuzzy mirror broodingly, Sam wondered what it was that Dean was seeing when he looked at him. Did he see the little brother he had grown up with? Did he see the soldier their dad had tried to turn him into? Or did he look at him with the eyes of a stranger, a friend maybe, who was considering him, Sam, as a possible partner? That thought gave Sam pause. His stomach did a little flip. Up to now he had always perceived Dean with the eyes of a brother. Someone he had known ever since he could remember. Someone he had spent most of his life with. Someone he had lived with, had trained with, someone who had seen Sam at his best and worst. Someone he was so awfully familiar with that he barely noticed the details. _Maybe it would be interesting to change that point of view_ , Sam thought. What would happen if he tried to see Dean with the eyes of a stranger, rather than someone who had known him all of his life. What if he actually _looked_ at Dean as if it were the first time he saw him? 

 

When Sam did risk another glance over to Dean, he felt slightly nervous, even though he didn't quite know why. He tried to view Dean the way someone else - anyone else - would see him, tried to push away the picture he had had of his brother for all of his life now. Was he someone women found attractive? For sure. Was Dean someone he could admit _Sam_ might find attractive? Maybe. He fought hard to focus on the details in his brother's face, on something he might not notice any more because he was just so used to seeing it every day. 

 

Dean had nice eyes. Long, dark lashes were framing amazingly coloured eyes - eyes that sometimes even seemed to change colour according to the mood Dean was in. What next? His nose. Hmm, nothing special about that, besides maybe...the freckles Sam had never really paid much attention to before. And Dean really _did_ have quite a nice mouth. Startled, Sam realized that yes, his brother was definitely quite attractive - if one didn’t look at him through the eyes of a brother. Sam smiled. That was interesting. He wondered what else he would discover about Dean if he kept looking at him and his actions, the way he had done just now - like he hadn't known any of them for his whole life. Now if... 

 

“What? Why do you keep staring at me?” The irritated, annoyed voice of Dean startled Sam out of his thoughts. 

 

_Oh crap. Busted._ He had been blatantly staring at his own brother. Not good. Not good at all. What was he supposed to tell him? What could he possibly say that would keep Dean from ripping his head off? “Can't I look at you?” Sam shot back. “It’s not like there's a whole lot to see out there,” Sam added after a small pause at the incredulous expression on Dean's face. He vaguely indicated the forest they were driving through, but the suspicious expression on Dean's face didn't waver. “Look, dude, just drive, I’m thinking about what's happening in Lexington. Trying to puzzle it all together.” For a moment Sam thought Dean would press him on the matter, but he just shrugged and turned his attention back to the road. 

 

Thankfully Lexington wasn’t that much further. The insides of the Impala seemed to shrink with every minute. Maybe looking at Dean with different eyes had been a mistake. Sam was uncomfortably aware of them sitting so close together in the confinement of the car. Close enough to just reach out and... _Are you out of your mind, Sam?_ the little voice in his head sounded suspiciously like Jessica. _You are as sick as he is - looking at your brother like that... He's NOT my brother!!!_ Sam's internal debate was taking on even more bizarre forms when he began arguing with himself. _He tucked you into bed, read you bedtime stories, cooked for you, held you when you were scared and allowed you to crawl into bed with him after a bad nightmare,_ the voice retorted instantly, remarkably sarcastic. Sam turned away from Dean, who was already frowning at him again. _Adopted or not, he’s still my brother._ Sam wished he sounded more convinced in his own head. 

 

With a ridiculous feeling of relief Sam realized they were leaving the forest behind them, the last trees being replaced by a few houses. Soon he got a first glimpse at the town that lay ahead. Dean would be on the lookout for a cheap motel soon. Then he could get out of the car. Not that sharing a room with Dean would actually allow Sam to put the distance between them he needed so desperately right now. 

 

“Wanna grab a bite somewhere before we find a motel?”

 

Not daring to look at Dean, Sam shook his head, his eyes glued to the street in front of them. “Nah, let’s get a room straight away, I’m not hungry. There’s a lot of research we’ll have to do. You can always head out and get us something to eat if you're starving already.” Dean would scout out their surroundings, find the cheapest diner and a place to gamble. Sam wouldn’t see him for at least an hour. Longer if he found a girl to hang out with for a bit. 

 

Dean shrugged, but threw him another obviously worried look. 

 

“Would you _stop_ doing that?” Sam demanded, suddenly feeling angry for no reason. 

 

Face going blank, Dean purposefully concentrated on the empty road in front of them. “Stop doing what?” 

 

“Looking at me as if I am going to break down and cry or somethin’. I’m not gonna act like the emo-chick you seem to think I am. For the love of god, I’m _fine_ ,” it rushed out of him before he could stop himself. 

 

Sam could have sworn that Dean had looked hurt for a heartbeat, but his face arranged itself in the normal loveable rogue smile he had down so well and shrugged again. “You’re sure doing a good impression of an emo-chick right now, dude,” he said as he parked the car in front of a cheap looking motel with a flourish. “Why don’t I get us a room and give you some time to calm down?” Then he had the gall to _wink_ at Sam in an understanding sort of way and was gone. 

 

Suppressing a curse, Sam got out of the car as well, slamming the door just a little bit harder than absolutely necessary. “Calm down,” he huffed as he grabbed their bags and his laptop from the backseat. “Very funny!”

oooooOooooo

Sam sat down at the only table in the motel room and spread everything they had on the problem in Lexington out while the laptop booted up. Thankfully Dean had gone out to ask around a bit; they both needed some distance.

 

With a sigh Sam looked over what they had already compiled. The information really did point at a pack of vampires quite strongly, but Sam wasn't ready to believe that quite yet. It seemed like two of the dead - a couple that had been just passing through town - were the only strangers that were affected. The other three men - the dead one and the two missing ones - were all locals. 

 

For a moment his thoughts drifted back to their earlier car ride. In retrospect it had been pretty stupid to look at Dean that way. _Get a grip on yourself,_ Sam thought in disgust as he perused the newspapers of the last month in their online versions. He felt like he had opened the box of Pandora and had actually caught himself staring at Dean’s ass on the way upstairs. 

 

This was turning into an unbearable situation. With a shake of his head Sam cleared all thoughts of the previous day from his mind and frowned intently at one of the more interesting articles. Only a few days old it was about one of the more recent killings and the reporter was a joker, liking the serial killer to a vampire. Sighing, Sam moved on to the next page and did a double take. Some sneaky photographer had managed to take a shot before the police had removed the body. 

 

Hoping he would be able to find some answers, he downloaded the photo. Once it appeared on the screen, he zoomed onto the gaping wound in the man’s throat. “Oh crap,” Sam breathed. That was - without a doubt - a vampire bite mark. So that stupid reporter hadn't been so stupid after all, and the supposed joke was turning into bitter reality real fast. The worrisome part about that revelation was the fact that there was never just _one_ vampire. They hunted in packs. 

 

“Yup, a vampire nest. Great, just what we needed,” Sam muttered to himself as he got up and grabbed his jacket to look for Dean. They had to prepare and rest before tonight. Dead man’s blood was hard to get by and even with it, dealing with a pack of vampires would be dangerous. This would be one hell of a hunt.

oooooOooooo

“Damn,” Dean muttered to himself as he got into position. The vampires were just starting to feast on their latest victim; a young man who had vanished earlier that evening. His companions had been terrified when he hadn’t turned up after going into the bushes at their last stop. The sheriff hadn’t been able to locate him in the woods and still thought he had gotten lost while looking for a place to pee.

 

The noises were disgusting as the three vampires practically tore the poor sod apart. Dean wouldn’t forget those blood-curling screams anytime soon. They had been too late; only minutes too late to save this last victim. He aimed carefully with his crossbow and let the first bolt fly. One of the human looking monsters yowled in pain, dropping with the effect of dead man’s blood the tips had been dunked in. 

 

Dean smirked to himself and took aim again, quickly letting the second bolt fly, reloading before it even found it’s target. The only positive thing about having found them while they were feeding was that they were distracted. At the roar of this one, the others suddenly stopped mauling the young man and looked around wildly. 

 

Now they were on to their game. Dean stood up from his comfortable crouch and took aim. The shot went off before he was spotted, and the third vampire dropped immediately, moaning in pain. Striding towards the remaining two, he slowly reloaded his weapon. With three of their companions down, the last two vampires were more likely to run than stay and fight unless he showed himself. Dean knew that being bait wasn’t exactly the greatest idea he had ever had, but it’d ensure Sam a nice view for his shots.

 

As anticipated, they made a beeline for Dean, who was still fumbling around with the crossbow. _Come on, Sammy,_ he thought as the two got way too close for comfort. Then it all happened so fast that they seemed to drop at the same time. “I just hope that’s all of them,” Dean muttered to himself as the bolt he had been playing around with slid into place. 

 

“That went pretty well,” Sam said loudly as he sauntered over to the moaning vampires Dean had picked off earlier. The wicked blade he was holding as sharp as they managed to make it. “Easier than I thought it would be.” 

 

Dean pulled his own knife and looked down at the writhing vampires. They were beyond caring what happened to them right now, moaning and whimpering in agony. Dead man’s blood was surely worth the bother of procuring when hunting vampires. “Yeah,” he agreed, “but you sure took your time with the last two.” 

 

“Would you rather have had me hurry and risk hitting you, Dean?” Sam asked without real annoyance, glad that all had turned out smooth and easy. Dean didn’t answer Sam’s question, he just turned and grabbed the hair of the nearest vampire. Now came the ugly part.

 

Dispatching of the vampires was a grisly - but compared to the rest of the hunt - easy task. The vampires offered no further resistance, apart from the smallest one, who tried to crawl away from the carnage in desperation as Dean approached him to hack off his head, “Please, don’t...” 

 

“Should have thought of that before you killed six innocents, buddy,” Dean hissed, grabbing the struggling vampire by the collar. He was surprised the creature was still able to move at all.

 

“We didn't kill that many,” the vampire screeched, desperately trying to get away from Dean. “We only killed three people including that one.” The young looking monster nodded in the general direction of the mutilated body of their last victim. “I swear we didn’t do it.” 

 

Dean sighed and used another bloodied bolt on the struggling vampire. “Guess we have a little problem here, if it wasn’t them.” 

 

“You believe him?” Sam asked incredulously. “Dean, they’re lying. All of them, and you know it. They’d say anything to get away.” He waved his own crossbow at the only vampire still alive. “He’ll tell you everything you want to hear just to stay alive in the hopes you won’t kill him after he is done talking. Do you really think he’ll tell you the truth?”

 

“I don’t know, but what if he _isn't_ lying? That’d mean there’s something else here hunting people. That’s nothing we can risk,” he prodded the moaning vampire with the tip of his boot. 

 

Dean could tell Sam was starting to get frustrated by the way he grimaced and huffed. “There is no guarantee he even knows what else is around here and killing.”

 

“We’ll just have to ask him then,” Dean answered, grinning at Sam. He could almost hear Sam’s teeth grind. It was a relief for Dean to be able to rile up his little brother like that. Like nothing had happened between them. As if Dean had never told Sam the best kept secret of their family. He could feel Sam’s glare at the back of his head. A moment Sam said nothing, then he snorted once and Dean could feel the charged air between them drain. 

 

“You do that then. I’ll wait in the car.” With that Sam turned away and left in the direction they had hid the Impala in. 

 

Pointing the crossbow at the vampire who was starting to regain some of its senses again, he put on a wolfish grin. It’d be fun to wring everything it knew out of it. “Now. Start talking.”

oooooOooooo

Sam should have known the peace was too good to last. After sleeping in, they spent a quiet morning doing more research. If Dean was right and there _really_ was something else out there killing people, then they should be able to find it. It would just be a lot easier it they knew what they were looking for and more importantly if there was anything at all to find. Up to now it didn't look like they were going to get answers anytime soon. It was almost dinner time already and Dean started to get uneasy. He’d begun to pace the room like a caged animal, annoying Sam to no end in the process. “Dean, sit down, damn it. You're making me dizzy. You are after all the one who insisted to listen to that damn vampire. You think it told the truth, you help me find out what's going on,” Sam snapped, losing his patience. Having Dean so close was unsettling him in ways he wasn’t used to. Things were supposed to get easier between them, not more complicated.

 

“I dunno what you want from me, Sammy,” Dean snapped. “There is nothing in there to tell us what’s going on. We went over this stuff several times now and it got us nowhere. I just... I... need some air. I...”

 

“You need some air?” Sam interrupted him, looking up at Dean like he’d gone mad. “You are _not_ going out drinking and playing pool leaving me to do all the work. You hear me, Dean? This is your hunt. You wanted to come up here. So you’ll damn well help me figure out what's going on here.” 

 

“What the hell do you want from me, Sam? This is the part that you’re better at. You’ve always been better at this.” He vaguely waved at the laptop and the strewn out newspapers. “You’re the one with the brains after all.” 

 

Speechless, Sam gaped at his brother for a minute before his brain engaged again. “So what you’re saying is that just because I’m better at thinking with the head on my shoulders than you, I should do all the research on my own? Tha’'s utter bull. You’re not nearly as much of an idiot as you try to make yourself look like.” 

 

Dean's expression went hard, “Did you just call me an idiot?” He turned around, slamming his fist into the nearest wall. “I can't believe I'm still listening to you. You’re just pissed that it wasn’t _your_ idea to question the vampire. I’m sure there is more going on than we figured out yet. He had no reason to lie.” 

 

“Fine, Dean, then help me find the answers, God damnit,” Sam yelled, getting up to stand in front of his brother. “If you really think there is something out there, then stop thinking with your dick and get back to work.” 

 

If looks could kill, Sam would have been dead. “Is that what this is all about, _Sammy_? Can’t you stand the thought that I might get laid tonight? That I could actually score? Now you sound more like a jealous lover than my little brother.”

 

 

”Jealous lover?” Sam echoed, shoving at Dean's chest roughly. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else, Dean. _I’m_ not the one who has the hots for his own bother.”

 

A look of hurt rushed over Dean’s face and Sam instantly regretted his harsh words. He hadn't meant to bring up this topic again, especially since his own thoughts about Dean had been anything but brotherly during the last two days.

 

As fast as it had appeared, the look was gone from Dean’s features, leaving nothing behind but a blank mask. Sam was about to apologize, to tell Dean he hadn’t meant it, when his brother suddenly turned around and headed for the door. “I’m gonna get dinner. I won’t be long.” With that he was gone.

oooooOooooo

His stomach grumbling with hunger, Sam glanced at the time at the right bottom corner of the laptop. “Geez, Dean, it’s been three hours. Where the _heck_ are you?” The need for food and the worry for Dean finally made Sam move from his comfortable place on the bed. He grabbed his jacket and purposefully went outside. The good thing about knowing Dean so well was that he knew his list of priority. They had both been taught the same things. They both used the same patterns. Following Dean’s likely way through the surrounding area would be a piece of cake.

 

The diner next to the motel was one of the worst places Sam had ever seen. He didn't even need to go inside, one look through the dirty windows told him everything he wanted to know, and even some things he really didn't want to know. Before he'd touch anything coming from that kitchen, he'd starve. 

 

Another couple of diners, restaurants and bars later, he finally found the right hunting ground Dean might pick if left to his own devices. Gambling and easy women were just the right combination to appeal to his big brother. 

 

Sam spotted Dean the second he stepped through the door. The idiot was sitting at the bar, one arm slung around the waist of a pretty brunette, a beer in the other hand. The girl seemed to be closer to naked than decent with a see-through shirt that left nothing to the imagination and a skimpy little mini-skirt that screamed ‘easy’. When Dean discovered Sam, he waved, gesturing for him to come over. Hungry, a bit worried, and quite pissed off, Sam made his way over to his brother, annoyed that Dean had chosen to have fun rather than come back with food. It had been _his_ idea to stay longer and see of there was something else around, after all. Before Sam could say anything though, Dean spoke, “Linda, that’s my brother Sammy.” Sam flinched at the nickname used in public, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. “He needs to get laid. Hasn’t gotten any since his girlfriend died.” Dean’s eyes were on the girls face and his voice had an unusual undertone. Sam fumed, hoping for Dean that he was more intoxicated than he sounded, since that would be the only excuse that would be acceptable for saying that. One way or the other, there would be hell to pay. Sam clenched his jaw, but didn’t comment on the rude remark his brother had just made. Shifting his attention from Linda to his brother, Dean now addressed Sam, “Isn't she gorgeous? Come on, I’ll buy you a girl. If I get lucky, so will you!” 

 

Was that what she was, Sam wondered. A prostitute? Sam sighed, keeping his anger in check, and trying not to make a scene. “No, thanks, I’ll pass. Can I have a word with you, Dean? _Outside?_ ” He hoped his brother would listen to reason, then. Sure, the hunt was over, the vampires killed, but that didn’t mean everything was all right. There was still the possibility that those vampires _really_ hadn't killed the other men. And in that case, something decidedly evil was still around. 

 

“Oh, come on, Sammy. What's the matter? Have you forgotten how to have fun? You gotta relax, dude. Have a girl, have a beer...” 

 

Sam’s control slipped, his voice was hard when he snapped at his brother, “Listen to yourself, Dean. What’s gotten into you? I thought we were still here for a reason. I thought we had things to do. Now I find you in a bar with a girl on your arm and you try to... send me off with the next best... _whore_.” He sent Linda an apologetic little half smile, but she didn't seem to be the least offended. Instead she beamed up at Dean, who in turn ignored Sam completely, before she deliberately moved her hand over his well defined upper body. 

 

“Isn't he great?” she purred, pressing herself closer to Dean, rubbing against him. “He’s so strong and manly. He can make a girl’s knees go weak.”

 

At her words, realisation dawned for Sam. This was all about their talk and Dean proving he was still attracted to women and _not_ to his little brother. 

 

“I’m out of here,” Sam ground out through clenched teeth, ignoring the way his brother stared at Linda as if hypnotized. Dean didn’t even comment, he just leaned over and kissed her possessively. Storming out of the seedy establishment, Sam went straight back to their room and paced it for a few minutes before he felt he was calm enough to sit down. He couldn't say definitely if they still actually had a situation on their hands or if the vampires had just... lied. Sam picked up his laptop from the bed and set it down on the rickety table. He wasn't hungry anymore, and for a few moments he had to fight to get the picture of Dean kissing this woman out of his head. How could he be so foolish? _It’s not as if he needed to prove anything_ Sam thought, feeling unaccountably _hurt_ by Dean's actions. “This doesn't solve anything,” he told himself aloud, focussing on the newspaper articles of the last months yet again. Maybe he just needed to dig deeper, go back further, look at it form a different angle. 

 

When he looked at the same article for the third time, the puzzle pieces suddenly slid into place in Sam’s head with a nearly audible “ _click_ ”. He had skipped back and forth and now he had found at least a _surname_ he had come across before. A couple, Jeffrey and Linda Lyssewski, had lost both of their children when the little girls had drowned in a pool one day. The older of the girls had tried to rescue her younger sister, but didn't have the strength to get her out of the water. The mother, who had only been inside the house for a quick phone call had done everything in her power to bring them both back, but without success. She had been admitted into hospital with a nervous breakdown after the incident. 

 

The second article only had the name of the husband in it. It was dated about eight months after the death of the children and reported about Jeffery Lyssewski filing a complaint against his wife, reporting she had attacked him one night completely out of the blue. He had suffered several bite marks and severe bruising, making him one of the few male victims of domestic violence who ever made it to the police to file a report. The wife had spent the night in a police cell and the divorce had gone through quickly. End of story. 

 

Sam couldn't quite say what it was that stirred this feeling in him that he might have actually found the answer to their question if really something was still out there killing people. Something was nagging in the back of his mind, trying to come to the surface. He grabbed his father's journal and flipped through the by now well known pages. There was this... thought, just out of reach. If he could only get a hold of it, form it properly. He knew there was something. Something about children. Mothers of dead children. Mothers of dead children turning into something else. 

 

He rubbed his face with a frustrated sigh. He just couldn't remember it. _If Dean would be here instead of making out with this... slut, maybe we'd already have the answer,_ Sam thought angrily. He picked up a few prints of demons, ghosts, and other beings, flipping through the images in the hope something would jumpstart his memory. When he came across a sheet with Greek gods and goddesses, it finally came to Sam. _Hera!_ Hera had killed the children her husband Zeus had fathered with Lamia. The loss of her children finally turned Lamia into a monster - a monster that needed human flesh and blood to survive. _Male_ flesh and blood. She would look like a beautiful woman, luring her prey in by baring her breasts. Once the Lamia had the man she desired under her influence, he would mindlessly follow her wherever she wanted and would put up no resistance. Like a lamb to the slaughter. If she really was out there then her method of killing wouldn't look _that_ different from that of a vampire. 

 

Sam cursed. He needed to go and see Jeffrey Lyssewski. Breezing out of the room yet again, he stopped briefly at the overpriced machine that distributed sandwiches and wolfed one down on the way to the Impala. For once he was lucky that Dean had left the car keys. There was no doubt that his older brother would be pissed off when he found out Sam had simply taken it, but they had a job to do. Sam slid behind the steering wheel, feeling just that tiny little bit guilty because he knew Dean loved the Impala so much, but stifled that feeling immediately. If his airhead brother hadn't been making out with that dumb chick, he'd be the one driving right now. 

 

Lyssewski's flat wasn't far away. When Sam knocked, a run-down looking man opened. He was nothing like the man on the photos he had seen in the paper. Unshaven, reeking of alcohol and old sweat, he had more similarities to a homeless person. He certainly didn't seem to belong in this respectable looking apartment building. Recovering quickly, Sam knew his face was impassive enough for the man to not have noticed his none-too-nice thoughts. “Are you Mister Lyssewski? Jeffrey Lyssewski?” 

 

Frowning, the man nodded, “What do you want?” It was more a ‘Get out of my face’ disguised as a question. Something Sam had come across often enough to recognise it. 

 

“I’m a private investigator, and I need some information from you. About your ex-wife, to be specific.” Something in the other man's eyes made Sam continue quickly, “She’s involved in something that isn’t quite legal. My client would like to know more about her background. I’m loath to rely on what the papers are saying.” 

 

Sam could _see_ the resistance melt away. “What's in it for me?”

 

“How about you answer a few of my questions, and I pay you what your information is worth?” Sam countered, comfortable in his role. “It’ll be worth your time, I promise.” 

 

Lyssewski stepped aside and allowed Sam to come into the apartment. Considering the man looked like a bum, he lived quite well. Soon enough they were both sitting across from each other. 

 

“When your children drowned, what exactly happened to your ex-wife?” 

 

“She... I think she went mad. Linda couldn’t live with it. She was heart-broken. For a while she seemed fine enough. I mean, as fine as you can be when your two little girls...,” he broke off, swallowing convulsively, tears gathering in his eyes. No wonder the man was a wreck. “She couldn’t live with it. The therapy wasn’t working, and then she had the breakdown. After... she just wasn’t the same. Sitting in the nursery the whole day... refusing to give any of their stuff away. She pretty much lived in there. I mean, she slept in there most nights. I barely got to see her. I don’t know if she felt guilty. She never wanted to talk to me about it. Linda... she completely closed herself off from me, from the whole family and our friends. Until the day-“ Jeffrey broke off there. His eyes had a faraway look in them that Sam found difficult to classify. “She b-hit me.” 

 

That got Sam’s attention, he frowned. “I read about the domestic violence in the newspaper. She just hit you? Nothing more?” 

 

The man suddenly got up, agitation obvious in the way he moved, “That’s what I told the _police_. I mean, would you believe me if I told you that she bit me repeatedly and actually took a chunk out of my lower leg before I managed to get her off me? She _chewed_ and god knows she looked like I was tasty.” There was an undertone of desperation there that Sam picked up on very easily. “At least at first, then she spat what was left out and hit me. I can’t remember a lot after that, I cracked my head against the wall and was out like a stone. The next thing I know, I was in hospital and the police asked me what had happened. There was no way I could have said _that_ ; they thought I was a wimp anyway. You should have seen their faces.” A sob escaped the man, “I still can’t explain what happened, and I still don’t understand it. We got divorced immediately after that, and I haven’t seen her since.” Visibly upset, Jeffrey Lyssewski barely managed to calm himself enough to continue speaking, “I don’t want anything from you. Just please, leave. I want to be alone.” 

 

“One more thing, Mister Lyssewski. Do you have a picture left of your ex-wife? We need to verify that this woman is actually Linda Lyssewski, and not an identity thief.”

 

 

Lyssewsky pulled himself together and plucked a framed photo from the closest shelves. “This is - was - my family,” he said in the broken tone of a man who had lost everything. 

 

Sam took the photo from the man and looked at it closely. What he saw made his blood run cold. There, hugging two cute little children to her chest was the woman Sam had seen barely two hours ago clinging to his brother. Sam's heart rate sped up dangerously. _“Linda, that’s my brother Sammy,”_ Dean had said. Sam wanted to slap himself for not seeing the signs. Dean had not exactly been himself earlier, and if it hadn’t been for that damn conversation Sam had had to blame, his brother would be safe now. 

 

Damn it, Linda Lyssewski was a Lamia and Dean was alone with her. 

 

“I’ve got to go, Mister Lyssewski.” Sam said, handing the picture back to him. “Thank you for your help and... good luck.” 

 

When he was back in the car again, Sam took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. It wasn’t too late yet. It _couldn’t_ be too late yet. Dean still had time. _You don’t know that,_ the little mean voice in his head chimed in, but Sam shut it up quickly. “He’s an experienced fighter, he can keep her away quite fine,” Sam told himself aloud. _He’s totally under her influence, he won’t even know what hit him,_ the voice in his head insisted. _It’s hard enough to fight these things with full control over all of your senses. How is he supposed to fight her when he doesn’t even know something is wrong?_

 

“Damn it, Dean, what have you gotten yourself into now?” Sam cursed, gunned the engine and drove off to the house of Linda Lyssewski, breaking every speed limit along the way.

oooooOooooo

Sam parked the car in front of the house, taking one last calming breath. He refused to think about what he would find if he was too late. There was no time for such thoughts. He’d find Dean, kill that Lamia, and then tell his foolish brother what exactly he thought of his behavior. Sam took the silver dagger out of the trunk of the car and shut it again. He focussed completely on the task at hand, refusing to let his thoughts wander. He couldn’t afford the luxury of fearing for his brother’s life, he told himself firmly.

 

The door wasn’t even locked. Sam silently moved round the house, trying to determine where she might have brought him. Finally he saw light coming from a door that was slightly ajar. Bursting into the room Sam’s eyes searched for Dean immediately. There, on the perfectly mundane double bed, in a house like any other in the suburb of Lexington, Dean Winchester was lying. A dark haired woman was straddling him, mauling him. She had his wrists pinned down next to his head, her legs immobilizing his lower body. From what Sam could see, she was about to bite his shoulder, roughly. There was no misunderstanding the noises Dean made as noises of pleasure. He was definitely in pain. The dagger was in Sam's hand before Dean's anguished moans even registered. 

 

Without a second thought, Sam plugged the silver dagger firmly between the Lamia’s shoulder blades. It gave off a high screeching sound before it turned and made to attack Sam. It was rather half-hearted, barely scratching his skin as it clawed at him. A step in Sam's direction was all it managed before the Lamia crumbled in on itself and turned to dust in front of his eyes. Taking a shaky breath Sam picked up the silver dagger and put it back into its sheath. 

 

Stepping over the remains of the thing he had just destroyed, Sam hurried to climb onto the bed his brother was still on. Dean was sitting up, pressing a hand against the place where the bitch had bitten his shoulder. Sam reached forward with his left hand, cupping his face, coaxing Dean into looking at him. His eyes were clear again; completely aware of his surroundings and free from the hold the Lamia had had over him, if a bit dazed with pain. He checked him briefly, making sure she hadn't taken an actual bite out of his brother. 

 

“Dean, are you all right?” Sam asked softly, brushing his thumb over Dean’s bruised and slightly swollen lip. 

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dean murmured, brow furrowing as he lifted his hand to wipe a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “All I need is a Band-Aid and I’m as good as new.” His eyes dropped as he rubbed both of his wrists. Bruises in the form of fingers were forming already where the Lamia had held him down on the bed forcefully. 

 

Sam followed Dean’s eyes, suppressing a curse. Something was welling up inside of him at the sight of his brother. Anger, possessiveness, jealousy. She had _no right_ to touch Dean like that, _no right_ at all. _He’s **mine** , dammit!_ Sam thought angrily, his eyes fixated on Dean’s thoroughly kissed lips. “Damn her,” Sam murmured, fighting the urge to wipe all traces of her from the other's body. 

 

Dean looked up at him, questioningly. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ve been worse,” he said, clearly confused about the emotions he must have seen on Sam’s face. “Um, I think I should go take a shower. I need to wash her off of me,” Dean muttered uneasily. 

 

Sam agreed wholeheartedly. But first... first... he couldn’t finish his thought because Dean lifted his head just the a fraction, looking him straight in the eyes. 

 

Both of them realized at the same time that Sam was still cupping Dean’s face tenderly, and in the next moment Sam leaned forward and brushed his lips against Dean’s. It wasn’t more than a brief touch of lips, a soft, yet incredibly intimate gesture, but it sent jolts of fire through Sam’s body. Surprised at his own actions, Sam pulled back, searching Dean’s eyes again. He could see confusion and something akin to _hope_ in them – but no fear, no disgust. 

 

“Sammy,” Dean whispered, insecurity lacing his voice. 

 

Sam just looked him in the eyes again, hoping that Dean would know that he had no intention of hurting him in any way. “Shhh,” Sam lowered his eyes and leaned forward again slowly. He wanted to give Dean every chance to pull away if this was not what he wanted. The wild feelings of possessiveness and jealousy gave way to the need to comfort and care. Something he had until this point only associated with Jess. 

 

The thought of his dead girlfriend fled Sam’s mind when Dean’s lips touched his own, and warm hands came up to rest on his back, one high enough to touch the skin just above his shirt-collar. Dean didn’t pull him in closer, but didn't push him away either, he just held him in an easy embrace. Losing himself in the kiss, Sam let go of all his doubts, allowed himself to stop thinking just this once. His eyes had drifted closed, and all he could feel could think about were the lips on his and the hand rubbing the small of his back. 

 

Then the moment was over and Sam pulled back. Realisation of what he had just done hit him full force, but he managed to hide it well enough, hugging Dean closely to himself. “Come on, let's get you out of here and patched up. Can’t have you bleed all over the upholstery.” Dragging Dean up with him, Sam supported him until he seemed fairly stable on his feet. They didn’t say anything more as they made their way slowly down the hallway. There had never been a nicer noise to Sam than the entrance door shutting securely behind them as they left. 

 

The End.

oooooOooooo


End file.
